


wilds of suburbia

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: non_mcsmooch, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon didn't exactly fit in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wilds of suburbia

**Author's Note:**

> For Esteefee, who wanted the team, a mall, and some outraged soccer moms. Thanks to Cate for betaing!

Ronon didn't exactly fit in. He was in jeans and a close-fitting long-sleeved back t-shirt, a pair of flip flops on his long, narrow feet—pretty standard wear for a Tuesday afternoon in the mall—but he was failing kind of dramatically at the whole suburbia thing. His dreads were tied back from his face with an old strip of cloth; the line of his throat vivid with his newest tattoos; Torren was cradled in a brightly-patterned sling against his chest; and he was eyeing a Hot Topic storefront with utter bemusement.

"You okay, buddy?" John asked. John was amused by the whole thing, mostly because he figured that he didn't fit in any better himself. He was wearing a USAF t-shirt, all right, but Rodney had given him his bags to carry, for one thing (with a friendly pat on the ass to boot), and while Teyla had just taken his free hand, that was only after she'd kissed Rodney on the mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, John had seen a couple people do a double take at that—probably not the kind of interaction you generally got in Colorado Springs.

Ronon pointed at a window display of wallet chains. "Don't look very strong," he said. "Tie someone up with that, they can break out of it easy. Your people pay money for this stuff, Sheppard?"

An elderly woman walking past them looked more than a little scandalised.

"He's, uh... French," John told her. "They're different." The woman hurried on, not looking much more reassured. Rodney snickered, and John wished he had a free hand with which to hit him over the head. "Stop scaring the locals," John told him instead.

"It's not my fault they're delicate little flowers," Rodney sniffed, without looking up from the list he had in one hand. He was ticking off the things they'd already bought, but the list still looked intimidatingly long. John was starting to regret suggesting that maybe they should pick some things up before they returned to Atlantis. John had meant, like, some new boxers and socks without holes in the toes; Rodney wanted every game invented for the Wii so far, Ronon had bought out pretty much the entire poetry section of Barnes and Noble, and Teyla had discovered Victoria's Secret.

(John's face still felt hot. He'd volunteered to take over Torren-watching and sit that one out; no matter if the kid couldn't speak yet, he shouldn't have to sit through watching his mom and her boyfriends picking out thigh-high stockings. They were _awesome_ stockings, and John was sure Teyla would put them to excellent use. But, you know—Torren was _right there_.)

"Rodney," Teyla said, a hint of warning in her voice. "It is probably best if we avoid a repeat of the previous incident."

"Hey!" Rodney said, his voice climbing in pitch. "That was demonstrably not my fault! That was _all_ on Ronon."

"Your _mouth_ was all on Ronon," John mumbled, just as Teyla said, "Regardless, it was a most awkward conversation to undertake with General Landry. Please refrain from any further activities which might attract the attention of your law enforcement until we are back at your apartment."

"I resent being cast as the guilty party!" Rodney said—but then Ronon leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Rodney's eyes went wide and his eyebrows flew up; John could practically see all the blood rush south. "On the other hand," Rodney continued, "being cast in _that_ role? I don't object to so much."

"Ixnay on... on _that_ in front of Torren!" John hissed. "Ronon, cover his ears."

"Torren's or Rodney's?" Ronon's smirk was especially shit-eating, and he quirked an eyebrow at John as he reached over and goosed Rodney. Rodney squeaked, but didn't look displeased.

"_Ronon_," John hissed. "Not in public."

Next to him, Teyla sighed. "I will never understand your people's bizarre prohibitions on anything more than monogamous, opposite gender relationships."

"Uh, excuse me?" Rodney said, holding up a finger. "He's the American. I'm Canadian. We're just _fine_ with—"

"Rodney," John said, letting just enough of a growl into his voice for Rodney to subside.

"Okay, okay," Rodney said, flapping a hand at him. "You're fine with cock, I got that a while ago."

"Yeah," Ronon said—and if he wasn't careful, John thought viciously, the wind would change and his face would stick in that smirk—"think we all did."

A gaggle of women with improbably bouffant hair and crucifixes walked past carrying J C Penney's bags. More than one of them glared at John—which he thought was kind of unfair; wasn't like he was the only one of four with a fondness for cock—and he resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. He had the sinking feeling that the next Focus on the Family newsletter would be about the dangers of slutty queers in malls, corrupting children and the armed forces in equal measure. Next time, he thought, it might be wise to leave the USAF softball t-shirt _and_ Torren back at the base. Better for what little sanity he had left, and it might leave him with more hands free to knock heads together should his team decide to get all performative in public.

Again.

"Can we just get on with whatever's on that list of yours?" John said. "I'd prefer not to be run out of town on a rail."

"Mmm, yes," Rodney said, "That would be sort of a busman's holiday, wouldn't it?"

"Hey," John protested, "we don't—it's not like we—we don't have the _worst_ record of any gate team."

"That's only because none of us have _died_ as frequently as anyone on SG-1."

"It does seem at times," Teyla said mildly, "as if some of us have contributed to... diplomatic difficulties."

"Why is everyone looking at me?" John said.

"I make no comment," Teyla said, but patted John very gently on the small of his back.

"Can we go get some food now?" Ronon asked. He walked over to the nearest mall directory and peered at the list of restaurants. "What's Hooters?"

"Oh my god," Rodney said loudly, then pointed at John. "You're explaining _that_ one."

"Why do I have to do it?" John said, hoping that no one else had picked up on the whine in his voice.

"Because," Rodney said, rolling his eyes, "Teyla had _my_ credit card when she discovered Good Vibrations. Share the pain, buster."

_Buster?_, John mouthed at him.

But Rodney was busy helping to transfer a fussing Torren from Ronon over to Teyla. "Come on, little man," he said, "it's time we introduced you to the joys of a food court. Can you say 'food court'? Food... court."

"He will not be able to speak for some time, Rodney," Teyla pointed out.

"I'm just encouraging him," Rodney said, planting a kiss on Torren's curls before giving Teyla a brief, affectionate kiss. "He has potential, I can tell!"

"Thought you were pissed because he spit up on you this morning," Ronon said wryly.

"The ability to annoy others is an intrinsic part of being a genius," Rodney said loftily, and the expression on his face was so very Rodney that John couldn't help himself—he leaned over, grabbed Rodney by the nape of the neck, and kissed him full on the mouth. Not for long, not as deep as he wanted, but enough to make Rodney's eyes close and to make everyone in the nearby Yankee Candle stare at them.

"Well," Rodney said when his eyes opened. "Okay?"

"Thought we weren't supposed to do that in public?" Ronon asked.

"Oh, shut it," John said, feeling annoyed and grateful and not a little bit turned on, and he tilted his head up to kiss Ronon, too, feeling a familiar flip in his stomach at the unexpected softness of Ronon's lips, the scratch of his beard.

"Should I feel neglected?" Teyla said, voice warm with amusement, when John and Ronon finally broke the kiss. John didn't dare look over into Yankee Candle; they might have induced a heart attack in anyone wearing a promise ring.

"Nah," John said, grinning at her as they picked back up all their purchases and straggled off in the direction of the food court. Rodney was making noises about having something fried. "You've got those stockings. I'm sure you're going to use them to best effect later on."

"I am sure I will," Teyla said primly. "Especially since I am not, at present, wearing any underwear." She picked up the pace slightly, but John found he couldn't quite trust his legs to work as they were supposed to.

He trailed along behind them, listening to Teyla's soft murmurings to Torren, Rodney's expostulations to Ronon as he explained the joys of an all-you-can-eat buffet and thought well, things were okay, things were good. John didn't fit in here any more, with the chain stores and the muzak and the air conditioning, but maybe he never had—and he had Atlantis now, he had his team, he had _home_. And really, he'd seen those stockings. It was all good.


End file.
